Thralls of a Dread Lord (1.87T)
Welcome to my weekly serial. This is a rough draft that I am working on, for your reading pleasure. It is a fairly grim tale, so be warned.
Here is the first post from this series.
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The sudden hush was like a kind of thunder, spreading across the multitudes with supernatural swiftness. It was so quiet that Retaak could hear the crackle of a fire and distant birdsong. Even the sound of so many breathing or coughing spawn should have been louder. It was an unnatural silence, pregnant with fearful anticipation; Kaasukak compelled them all, binding them, and the Dread Lord was its source.
Footfalls sounded in the silence. A menacing sound, metallic and echoing, from the foyer of the Dread Lord’s abode. Retaak found he could not look away, but through the corner of his eye he saw Ushochhushi slip away. He steeled himself and tried to resist the Dread Lord’s call, but at that moment the footsteps paused and the great doors at the bottom of the tower swung open.
For a moment Retaak could only see the yawning darkness beyond the mouth of the doorway and then the shadows seemed to separate and the obsidian armour of The Dread Lord resolved in his vision. Despite himself Retaak forgot about Ushochhushi as he gazed upon the self-proclaimed master of all his kind.
As the doors settled, the Dread Lord marched forward into the light, his footsteps echoing off the basalt steps and rolling over the silent multitudes. Taller than a bull ogre, but not nearly so heavy, The Dread Lord moved with grace in spite of the thick armour that encased his form from head to toe and the weight of his steps. In his right hand he carried the Sword of the First Dread Lord, a weapon that seemed to seethe and rage in his gauntleted hand, full of power and malice. In his other hand he carried the Scourge of Bemachhorak, nine lengths of spiked chain dragging on the ground sparking on the stone. There were a host of other relics on The Dread Lords person, but aside from the weapons Retaak’s eyes were always drawn to the Dread Crown, a spiked crown of plain iron that sat upon The Dread Lord’s heaume. It was the symbol of his power and the source of Retaak’s oppression.
The Dread Lord walked down the stairs into a raise dais that let him look down upon the great horde of the Fellspawn that had assembled for Tribute. The silence seemed to deepen as they watched, expectant. Retaak knew that he was not the only one who resented the Dread Lord’s power; any Spawn would take it, given the chance — but he held them all down. As he came to stand at the end of the Dais, the Dread Lord gaze out at them, waiting, letting the anticipation grow. Finally, he spoke “kneel.”
KNEEL
And the weight of the command came down on Retaak like an avalanche. He tried to resist, to stand against the Kaasukak, but blood began to drip from his nose immediately and the sheer power of The Dread Lord drove him down. He hated himself for that, but he hated the Dread Lord more. So intent was Retaak on his own misery that he did not notice the ripple of shock that ran through the spawn, and the drama unfolding, until the Dread Lord spoke again.
“What is this?”
Retaak snapped back to the present and there he saw Ushochhushi standing where all others knelt, save for the elven woman at his side.
…
